


The Past Walks with Us

by AceQueenKing



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bloodplay, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Ghosts, Force Sex (Star Wars), Hair-pulling, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Knives, Love/Hate, Rough Sex, Star Wars: The Last Jedi Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: Kylo Ren binds his grandfather's powers to his own and uses the ensuing power influx to try to bend Rey to his side. Rey isn't going down without a fight, however, and she can give as good as she gets.





	1. Chapter 1

Darth Vader' s tomb on Korriban was empty.

Kylo Ren stalked the elaborate hall off it, pulling off his mask and breathing deep in the stillness of the stone. He placed one hand, reverently, on the plain wall, the words in the ancient Sith tongue at long last under his fingertips.

 _I the Jedi chosen became their hunter_  
 _I the vanguard of the Empire do here lie_  
 _My chains_ broken _and I unbound_

He traced each letter slowly, reverently. When had grandfather made this? Surely before the Death Star, before his death, but when was a mystery that would continue to haunt him. He knew so little of Grandfather; Leia and Luke had known little of him, but neither wanted to talk. Fools. He pressed his hand firmer into the stone, little bits of it scattering down to his feet. He would leave his permanent mark upon this land, and flushed a bit with pride in that. _I will prove that I am worthy of your legacy, grandfather,_ he prayed. _Show me the way._

There were words written in Nabian script underneath his oath, a deeply private gesture, meant only for those who could read it. Kylo Ren supposed he should not have been surprised to find that Grandfather had chosen Grandmother's language over his own; Darth Vader seemed to want nothing to do with his homeworld, yet another feeling that tied him to his grandfather. They had both broken their chains.

He had not studied Nabian much yet; Grandmother, while interesting in her own right, was soft, and too much of her softness had shown in his mo- in Leia, in Luke. She had held them back, all of them, and Kylo Ren had no time for anything that might make him weaker. He recognized her name, none the less, and ran a hand over it.

She had been worth falling for, for his grandfather. Yet another way, he knew, they were the same. Leia and Luke would never have done so; Han, even less so. They knew nothing of love; not for him, and not for one another. He had slaughtered them for their sins, and the thought of their faces - each twisted in agony - led the dark side to pull him even further into its clutches. He felt it twist and turn about him and grinned.

It was time.

He sat on the circle in his grandfather's empty tomb, preparing the knife Snake had given him for just this purpose. It was a tricky thing to force-walk, to bind a spirit to your soul, but Kylo needed power.

Rey, despite being half-trained, had inflicted many blows against the First Order. She and that traitor, Finn - He wouldn't dignify that traitor with his proper designation - had been scoring a mess of victories left and right, taking over for the oh-so-mighty General Organa. She had not been so mighty to him, he thought, smirking, but her two protegees had been worthy opponents - especially Rey.

She had taken down Armitage Hux this past winter. He had tried to shoot her - fool. It had been the closest she had come to doing Kylo Ren a favor, and he'd watched the video of it many times. The power in her arms, the ferocity of the force that flowed through her limbs - she was like him, he knew. Fated. She'd lost her lightsaber but escaped with her life, which was more than most fools who had turned against the First Order could say.

And unlike Hux, she would not underestimate him. And so he could not underestimate her.

"Grandfather," he whispered, "show me the way. Reveal to me your face."

He did not wait to see if mist gathered; he felt the restlessness within his own limbs, and judged that enough to begin the next part of the ritual, shedding the long, dark coat and tabard he wore.

He took the ancient Sith knife and drew a long breath, concentrating on it, the way the edges ripped away from the skin. It would hurt, he knew that, but pain was but an inspiration. Master Snoke had taught him that. He would be strong, grit his teeth through the agony. He gathered his anger to himself, thought of the wrongs of his family, of his so-called friends, and closed his eyes and let the dagger fall, first to a small cut along his throat, an offering, and then to the wider cut along his arm - a binding.

He felt the blood begin to welt as he cast his spirit out in the ancient tradition shared by both the Jedi and the Sith; Luke had taught him this, once, the awareness in all things, all places. How ironic that it had not saved him in the end. There were three presences on Korriban beside himself; one his pilot, who showed nothing so much as boredom in the force, the Pilot standing near the ship and thinking of nothing but her own dinner. Not a force-user, her, and thus so ridiculously easy to read. The other two were harder to find; force-users half-shielded in the force. One was tantalizing familiar - Rey. He let his force senses whirl around her and saw her in his mind - a fine desert child, climbing rocks with purpose. Her teeth were grit and her eyes were set into a hardened steel that had come with losing so much.

He had never seen anything more beautiful.

The other presence, though, was what he had come for. A pity, Rey's presence made the meeting need to be far shorter than he had wanted it to be, but he would make her pay for it. He felt a steely hand on his throat and swallowed, leaning upward and staring deep into misty blue eyes.

"Grandfather," he breathed. The hand was cold, metallic, and he wondered why grandfather had chosen to appear less than hale and whole. Did he have a choice in how he appeared? He looked older than Kylo would have expected; mid-forties, with pale skin and long circles under his eyes. The only pictures on the holonet of his grandfather outside of the suit had been of him in his youth, with long, flowing hair that Kylo had done his best to replicate.

"Don't do this, Ben," Grandfather said. His eyes were soft and affectionate, and he stroked Ben's throat carefully. "There is no going back."

"My Name is Kylo Ren, grandfather," he said. He grabbed the ghost's dim hand with his own, letting his blood drip onto the ghost-mist. Tendrils of blood-red thread whirled around his grandfather's hand, and Kylo Ren gripped the ghost harder as he struggled to vanish back into the void of the force. "And I will live up to your legacy, with your power."

"Ben - " Grandfather's voice shook, quiet but never-the-less powerful. "I love you. And I'm sorry."

Ben did not close his eyes as the transfer began in earnest, the red force-thread entangling more and more of the ghost and diminishing it; every bit of fading light in his grandfather's form was empowering him, more and more. He watched as his grandfather became less and less, and his power - stars, he felt the universe, as it shifted and pulled.

And then there was nothing left of Grandfather at all; the red threads crackling into him, becoming one with him. He stood, shaking. There was - stars, there was so much, so much more than he had known.

"Thank you, grandfather," he said, bracing himself up against a wall. He could feel Rey now, could feel her approaching, and he laughed. Her shields mattered not at all to him now. He could read her, and oh so-well. He licked his lips and wondered what she thought of him, then grinned.

She wanted to save him - that was interesting. A buried thought, buried deep without her sub-conscious, but it was there - a desire, small but hopeful, that there was more to him than the first order. Perhaps Luke had told her stories before his inevitable end of what a pathetic youth he had been, and perhaps it had softened her heart. She hated him, yes - but there was something else there, too, a tenderness she would not have known of him.

But he would know it of her. He grinned, seeing it already, the threads of their fate intertwining; red-thread for blood, blue for hope. They were the the Jedi - bound in blood. For every step she took upon Grandfather's hill, the future was more and more certain.

He walked outward, letting the force carve a path through the sands for him. It was easier this way, to catch up to her. What did he care of the nature of the valley, with its cresting waves? The desert was her home, not his. He could ruin it as he pleased.

He enjoyed it, too, the way the sand splintered at his fingertips. The dark side howled in pleasure as punched through the dunes, until finally he came upon her and grinned.

She was in a sorry state. No lightsaber; that had been lost fleeing from Hux; not even her bo-stick that she had once carried - who knew where that, too, had been lost? In her hands, she held a knife. It was short, stubby, and she held it up to his throat without even so much as one hint of the softness she carried for him.

He held a hand out, wordlessly. She spat on it.

"We're past that," she said. "No more words."

"As you wish," he promised and waved a hand. If he could not take her in persuasion - and a part of him delighted in that - he would take her in the Force.

After all, what was left between them but the Force?


	2. Chapter 2

She snarled and ran toward him, her fingers tightening on the knife. He let it slice into the skin of his neck, let the darkness pour through the wound, before waving his hand and shoving her hard through the force. She fell several dunes away, lying still, and for a moment he was disappointed. Then she looked up, hate blazing in her eyes, and he felt it again, the frission of the force that flowed through them.

With her gaze on him, he placed his hand on the wound. It stung and welled; a cruel weapon, a knife - a lightsaber would cauterize. Still, it was only a surface wound; it would scar, but Kylo Ren had many, and another did not matter. “The same spot? How symbolic. A pity that’s the only victory you’ll have.”

“Asshole,” she spit. She stood, running toward him again, but he waved a hand; the sand parted, and she fell back. The knife fell to her side, and he moved with the speed of the force, the sand blurring into glass under his feet. He picked it up, studied the iron of his own blood on it.

She stared at him, and he opened the connection between them fully, probing the depths of her brain. She attempted to bring up a barrier, but he tore through it; it shifted like the sand into an hourglass in his fingertips - Can’t give in can’t submit gotta fight not done yet not done yet - he smirked. He pulled her up with the force, leaving two whispers of his fingers at her throat.

“You have spirit,” he said; she twisted, her fingers at her throat. He pressed the phantom digits into her flesh, not hard enough to cut off her air entirely, but enough to remind her just who, here, was truly in control. He smiled. “Join me, Rey. You could be so much more than another desert-walker who died upon the sands.”

He dropped her, and she fell to her knees, thudding on the soft sand with a none-the-less majestic sound. He dove into her brain, found resistance, and snarled. She would be made to learn, oh yes. He raised his hand to his face. “Would you like to know how I see you, Rey?” He whispered ,his hand out.

She looked up at him, wordless, and he took that as the invitation that he knew very well that it was not. He dove back into her mind; it was child’s play, with grandfather’s powers, to send an image to her; one he could augment with her own fantasies. He dived deep, found what he was looking for, and projected it outward -

Rey, on her knees, her mouth on him, he thought; ah yes, that was a particular favorite for him. Her eyes, so warm, so loving; submitting wholly to him, to pleasuring him. In his force vision, her eyes stayed on him even as she took him in, deep in, and he sighed, unable to stop himself from reminiscing on the fantasies he had nursed for months. “You see?” He shivered. In the fantasy, Rey focused on him and only him. He was all there was for her, and she-she was all there was for him. The force had foretold him this, and how could he do anything but show her the glory of it? They were bound together, him as the Supreme Leader and her as his right hand, his most important servant.

“Rey,” he murmured, softly. “Join me, _please_.” It was almost a prayer, and despite knowing that he shouldn’t, he closed his eyes, surrendered to the fantasy for just a moment, Rey’s tongue slithering against the length of his cock and - _oh_. He sent the suggestion of it in the force and opened his heart - but not his mind. His hand gleamed red with his blood.

He opened his eyes to her slowly standing. Her face was red, with lust or anger he could not tell. She held out her hand slowly, hesitantly. His heart leaped and he pressed his hand to hers. “I knew you would - “

His gratefulness was slapped out of him by her hand, which trembled but smacked him none the less. He stared down at her, her hand-print emblazoned onto his skin, and screamed. “What’s wrong with you? I offered you everything!”

She reeled back, but rather than slap him again, she sent a mental image that had a far more potent punch: her spitting his come back at him, disgust on her face.

“You-you!” He spluttered. His new powers pushed her back before he’d even quite decided that was what he was going to do. She landed several dunes away and he was tempted to let it be the end of it, to blast her with lightning until the miserable wench stopped moving, to cut her from bone to bone until there was nothing left but sinew and mud-blood - but no, that was no not enough; she was not worthy of that, of a fast death. They were bound, he knew; he could feel it, the tendrils of the connection between them fanning with a warm hatred. There were no secrets left to them; he raised his hand and pulled her forward, back towards him.

She spit in his face and he did not bother to wipe it off.

“You think the resistance respects you?” He sneered. “You’re nothing to them. A dumb Jedi lucky enough to fight for them. You’re no better than Luke, than mo - Leia.” He grabbed her cheek and dragged her closer; she tried to pull away but his new powers wouldn’t let her - no, she would never fly away from him again. “They died for pathetic ideals, for nothing! They see you as a soldier, as someone like them, a _meat-shield!_ You could be so much more!” He snarled and cupped her head; dropping her legs back onto the ground. “So much more,” he whispered, his face close enough to hers that he could feel the heat from each angry puff of her breath.

He held up his hand to her bare, pink cheek, and to his surprise, she leaned into the touch.

“Do you think the First Order sees you any differently?” Her mouth turned cruel, twin peaks of red lips curling in disgust. “Do you think Hux would not have gladly thought of shooting you? He did, you know. Many times. It was one of the last things he ever thought - _if only I had shot Ren years ago, things would not have gone this way._ ”

“I suppose you think that would hurt me,” he said, letting his hand touch her hair. The blood on his hand left a trail on her cheek, Skywalker blood tainting her otherwise perfect skin. “But it doesn’t. He was never special to me, not like you.”

“Special?” She laughed, cruelly. “I’m _nobody_ , you said that yourself.”

“Not to me.” He took a chance, dipped low, and pressed a kiss to her cheek, tasted the sweet tang of his own blood. “We could rule the universe, Rey. Me, the Supreme Leader, and you, the Goddess at my side.” She did not resist him; her breath caught in her throat and he allowed himself the barest hint of a smile. “Join me,” he said, a prayer, and pressed another kiss to her cheek, and another, to her shoulder, then another to the divot where her shoulder met her neck. “Join me, please. I need you, Rey.”

“You’re a kriffing idiot,” she said with a snarl and yanked his hair up. It hurt, a constellation of glorious pain, and he saw stars. He sucked in a harsh breath as her mouth pressed down on his; not quite a kiss, no, nothing quite so nice as that. It was a bitter touch, a rough bite to his lips that said more than her words could about how she felt about him. “You’re right, you could have had it all, you could have come with me, we could have been - “

“We are,” he said, not allowing her to finish the sentence, too afraid of what she would say. “We _are_.”

“I hate you,” she said, her eyes burning, and she shoved him down into the sand. He tried to use the force to propel himself upwards but Rey would have none of it, and he blinked in surprise.

“How did it feel?” she asked plainly, and he wondered what she meant by that until she pounced on him, her hand fondling his throat.

“Do it, if you must, and find out,” he said coolly, knowing she wouldn’t. Her fingers splayed across his throat; he swallowed and felt her fingers tighten across his Adam’s apple. He kept his yellow eyes on her as she flexed her hands; choking him. He put his hand on hers and she released it, instantly.

“I’m not you,” she said; she rocked backward, as if she wanted to tease him, or run. He clamped his fist on her arm and tightened it. No escape. Not now.

“You could be,” he murmured, “You could be.” He would make her into his finest work if he allowed her; a master protege, who he would teach all his secrets. Some Sith had never revealed all their secrets to their apprentices, so much lost knowledge but Kylo Ren - he would share all with her. She could be a part of grandfather’s legacy with him; after all, had grandfather had the choice, would he not have taken his queen by his side?

“I don’t want to!” She shrieked, her hands pounding on his chest. She growled, a horribly potent frustrated noise, her hands going to his sides and leaning down. “I want to save you.”

“So save me,” he panted. He pressed his hand to her cheek and she leaned forward, trembling; he grabbed her hair and forced her forward, mashing their lips together. This felt right, if chaotic; she bit him, and felt a bit of blood on his cheek, but fit did little to cramp his ardor. “Please, Rey, I need - “ He looked up at her, her gritted teeth grimacing, and put the full power of his ability to compel her in his voice. “I _need_ you. I can’t do this alone.”

Rey said nothing but her hands gripped his shoulders hard. She swallowed, some undermined conflict going through her face, and he felt the pain of it, though she was far too well shielded now for him to feel all of it.

“Please,” he murmured, shifting his hands to grab her waist. “If you want me to beg, I’ll beg, just - let’s stop fighting this.”

His hands gripped hard around her waist. She nodded, biting her lip, and leaned downward. “I still hate you,” she murmured. “I will _always_ hate you, for what you did.”

“Noted,” he said, softly, then reached up, and pressed his hand to her chest. She did not stop him. She was softer than the First Order intelligence would suggest; not the fearless lion of all their reports but soft, supple; he glided a hand under her binding and found the swell of her breast, and the mewling noise it produced when he put his hands upon her. 

Her hands tossed his away, shrugging off heroutfit like so much trash, and then her breasts were unveiled; glorious, pert to the touch. He leaned up, let his mouth caress a nipple, and felt her gasp underneath him, the electric jolt of her ragged breath doing things to his own arousal, surging. He noticed his blood and spit left on her breast as he glanced up at her eyes; that, too, was alluring; the idea of leaving his self on her, to make her something greater than she is, through blood, through sweat, through his breath and his will.

“Get that off,” she grunted, moving to allow him to stand, and he was all too willing. He stood, stumbling, lightsaber tossed to the side. He carefully removed his robes, so closely fashioned to look like his grandfather’s robes. He had always thought he would feel self-conscious at this point but he didn’t, standing naked before her with only a moment’s hesitance. He looked up, prepared to see her in all her glory - he wondered if Grandfather had perhaps felt the same with grandmother, whose brown curls reminded him only of the target of his desire. He looked and found nothing; she was gone. Only some of her clothes lay in the sand. She had taken the knife.

He roared, angry, and expanded his conscious through the force. She was running, running fast - using the force damn her - and into the tombs; her hand struck on Grandfather’s and he smirked. It was an easy thing to move toward her, to direct his consciousness and let it flow. Before perhaps, he might not have been able to follow, but grandfather’s gift had made this easier; he had to think it, and it was done.

“What?” She screamed. She turned toward him. “Don’t you understand?!”

“You’re afraid,” he said, softly. “I am, too.”

She reeled back and slapped him, hard. “Why do you do this to me? I hate you!”

He pressed his hands to the slapped skin, grimacing. “Do you really feel nothing between us? I’ve seen you in the force, Rey. I know you deeper than anyone else possibly could.” He took a few steps toward her and she gave no resistance; he lifted her up in his arms, the movement animistic and instinctual.

“I know,” she whispered; he pressed his hips against hers, reminding her of all that stood between them. “I know. But that goes both ways, Ben.”

There had been years when he had longed to be called by that name by a woman as beautiful as Rey. But now, he recognized nothing of it as his name. The past was dead, save what they strip from it for their own futures. And there would b a future with her; of that Ren was quite sure.

“Fuck me,” she breathed, in a hushed groan. He was all too happy to comply.

It was not something he was used to; he had been raised for war, not peace. Snoke had seen to that. Still, there was a part of this that felt natural to him; when she raised her leg, he knew to grab it, to hold it, and hold her tight. It took him only for a few seconds to fumble his cock into her vagina, and then he was pushing, pushing. She was tighter than he thought she would be, the walls of her wrapping around him in a way that felt natural.

She breathed a tight sigh; something between pain and pleasure in her thoughts, and he groaned, pressing his head into her shoulder. He tried to wait for her to adjust but couldn’t, the need to claim her too immediate. He braced her against the wall and bore his teeth, and found hers barred in return. He leaned in for a kiss and she bit his lip, and he felt it burn in more than just pain. The force bond between them pulled taunt, their emotions wrapping together. He did not hide from her. He did not need to.

 _I hate you,_ she broadcast, and he could feel the disgust in her for this act, even if he could also detect how much she liked the feel of him inside her, how much she wanted him to go with her, to reclaim a long-dead name... He pulled her hair and bit hard at her throat, nipping and hoping desperately that it would bruise.

I know, he said, and allowed himself to broadcast sorrow along with his pleasure. Sorrow that he wouldn’t be what she wanted, anger that he saw her as so many did: another fuck-up, never as strong as the rest of his family. Pleasure, of course, was what she gave him, and he broadcast his with every thrust. She gasped against him and he craveat moved faster, harder, trying to give her as much as he could.

The white-hot heat inside him - shame, anger, hatred, _love_ , a glorious cavalcade of dark side emotions - burst inside of him, and he came, quicker than he meant to. She lingered with him only for a few moments; he could feel the force pulling between them, a new and deeper bond being formed. She had taken his heart, he knew now; they were fated, her as force-bound to him as grandfather’s powers were now. He could feel the force propel them together, but then go off in another direction, the ties that bound them splitting into a new direction, a new life; he saw between them the line of a new line of Sky walkers, born of common blood between them. It would only be a matter of time.

He looked at her with soft tenderness. “Stay,” he whispered, softly. “Stay with me. Come back with me.”

“I can’t,” she said, shrugging off his offer as easily as a duck shed water. His beloved desert rat summoned her clothing from across the sea of dunes. He grabbed her arm, to try to force her to stay, but she shoved the knife in his hand, the blinding pain of it forcing him to look away.

He heard her scramble out the door still half-dressed, but did not follow, summoning his own clothing to wrap the wound. There would be time enough to nurse this scar, and time enough to bring her to his side. It would happen, he knew; they were force-bound together, and would only ever be satisfied by one another. He could still feel it now, the way she suns shimmered across her skin, the sweat that clung to her brow, the worry and shame of their encounter - she could hide nothing from him now, no matter how much she wished to. He could be patient. There were few places the Rebellion could go, and none that she could hide from him.

The past was dead, buried beneath the sands. She was the future; he had foreseen it. Their road to perdition was formed together.

He need only walk it.

**Author's Note:**

> A fill on the Star Wars Kink Meme for the following prompt: https://swkink.dreamwidth.org/2347.html?thread=3627#cmt3627
> 
>  
> 
> _Kylo/Rey, athletic angry sex_  
>  Nasty filthy hate sex where both of them give as good as they get. Slapping, hair-pulling, Kylo holding Rey against a wall to fuck her, Rey spitting Kylo's cum back into his mouth.


End file.
